


A Fake Date at the De Launcet Mansion Ball

by hollyand



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Awkwardness, Ballroom Dancing, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending, Hightown, Kissing, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Misunderstandings, Orlesian Balls, Templar Carver Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 10:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17865353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyand/pseuds/hollyand
Summary: "It was no use: Merrill was lost again, and even worse, she didn’t think she’d even been in this place before. At least, it didn’t look like the Grand Cleric’s airing cupboard, and neither did it look like the viscount’s bathing room; and the only thing she could say with any certainty – judging by the sumptuous, overly-ornate furnishings – was that she was in a mansion in Hightown. Worryingly, though, it didn’t look like Hawke’s."Merrill gets lost in Kirkwall... and accidentally ends up at a ball at the De Launcet Mansion in Hightown. Fortunately for her, she runs into Carver Hawke - and together they formulate a plan to pretend thatsheis there as his date, whilehecan secretly spy on Emile de Launcet's parents for the Knight Commander. What could go wrong?Written for a prompt by @lucyrne / @ungenue on Tumblr.





	A Fake Date at the De Launcet Mansion Ball

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucyrne (theungenue)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theungenue/gifts).



> Written for the following prompt: "I know the last time I suggested a fic idea/prompt/thing to you it got out of hand, but... you should definitely write a fake dating fic one day." This one got so long I thought it best to post it on AO3. Enjoy, my friend! ❤️  
> \-------------

It was no use: Merrill was lost again, and even worse, she didn’t think she’d even been in this place before. At least, it didn’t look like the Grand Cleric’s airing cupboard, and neither did it look like the viscount’s bathing room; and the only thing she could say with any certainty – judging by the sumptuous, overly-ornate furnishings – was that she was in a mansion in Hightown. Worryingly, though, it didn’t look like Hawke’s.

It _certainly_ didn’t look like the party at the Hanged Man that Isabela had invited her to – and that Isabela had even helped her pick out a pretty green dress of homespun silk in Hightown Market for. Where in the name of the Creators was she? She could have sworn this door was the door to the Hanged Man, but judging by the powdered and bewigged guests bustling past her – ladies draped in smooth silks and brocade and waving large feathered fans; men in satin waistcoats and finery to match their womenfolk – this was certainly _not_ the Hanged Man, or any establishment like it.

‘Merrill!’

She turned at the sound of her name being called – and to her utter astonishment, Carver Hawke was approaching, looking just as surprised at seeing her as she was on seeing him.

‘Carver!’ she exclaimed as he reached her. ‘Oh, I am _so_ glad to see you!’ A pause, as she looked him up and down; he was not dressed in the templar armour she’d last seen him in, but similar finery to the men at the gathering they were now at: pale blue silk shirt, finished off with a dark waistcoat and breeches. Well. At least he wasn’t wearing one of those silly grey wigs. ‘I – didn’t think this was the sort of thing you’d go to.’

‘I could say the same about you,’ he said, taking her to one side to talk to her away from the crowds. ‘I wouldn’t normally be seen dead at some poncy Hightown ball, but my mother made me attend in my sister’s stead – she’s off causing trouble, no doubt – and I didn’t know you were invited.’

‘I wasn’t,’ she told him. ‘I was supposed to be on my way to a party at the Hanged Man, but… I got lost.’

He smiled, then, and to Merrill it seemed almost fond. ‘Still getting lost?’

‘Yes,’ she said, scowling, and his expression turned apologetic. ‘Do you _really_ think I’d gate-crash a fancy Hightown party on purpose? They’re hardly going to invite an elf like me unless I’m a servant.’

‘Good point. I’m sorry, Merrill. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just – it’s nice to see you, that’s all.’

‘Well,’ Merrill said, deciding to change the subject (he seemed genuinely sorry, she thought, so it probably wasn’t worth getting so cross about), ‘it’s nice to see a friendly face in a gathering like this. Where am I anyway?’

‘This is the de Launcet mansion,’ he replied. ‘The Comte and Comtesse de Launcet are holding a ball. I didn’t want to go, but my mother asked me, and – the Knight Commander agreed it would be a good idea to go. Keep an eye on the family. Their son Emile is a mage in the Gallows, and Knight Commander Meredith thought it might be a good opportunity to spy on them, make sure they’re not conspiring to break him out.’

‘Oh,’ was all Merrill could say to that. ‘Well. It’s all very nice to see you again, Carver, but – I can’t really stay here? I wasn’t invited, and I’ll be thrown out if I’m discovered, but – if I’m honest, I don’t think I can really find my way to the Hanged Man tonight. I was out in Kirkwall for _hours_ before I ended up here.’

‘I could take you back to the Hawke Estate,’ Carver offered, ‘and you can sleep there overnight – Mother wouldn’t mind asking the servants to make you up one of the guest rooms – but the only problem is that I need to stay here for at least a few more hours.’ He smiled wistfully at her. ‘I wasn’t looking forward to being here, but –’ he coloured slightly, ‘– seeing you has made everything a lot better.’

Merrill smiled up at him; Carver was very sweet, she decided, and she had always got on well with him, but it really was a pity that none of them saw him more often. ‘If I am to stay here,’ she said, slowly, ‘I suppose I will need to hide for the evening until you come and get me?’

‘I have a better idea,’ Carver whispered, and – Creators, was he blushing? She didn’t understand it. ‘You could – _I_ could, I mean – always pretend I brought you as my date for the evening. If – If you didn’t mind, of course.’

‘Of course I don’t mind!’ Merrill chirped, relieved that he had come up with an idea that meant she wouldn’t need to spend the evening in an airing cupboard, or similarly shut away. ‘Why would I mind? It’s got to be more fun than hiding, at least. We can treat it like an adventure! It’ll be our secret. No-one need ever know we’re not dating – you can carry out your secret spying work, and I can pretend I meant to be here all along!’

He chuckled at that, and Merrill couldn’t help feeling pleased at having made him smile – the templars always seemed to make him so severe and hard-faced nowadays, and it was nice to see that boyish smile of his again – before his expression suddenly turned serious. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind, Merrill?’ he asked. ‘I mean, we’re going to have to act like we’re _actually_ dating, and… I don’t want to do anything you would feel uncomfortable with.’

‘You won’t,’ she smiled up at him. ‘I promise I am happy to act the part if you are.’

He huffed a sigh of relief, and nodded. ‘Of course I am,’ he said. ‘I suppose I should introduce you as my date to the hostess. That way, no one should ask you any questions about why you’re here. At least my mother knows who you are, although she’ll probably be surprised to learn you’re my date… but I can always explain that later.’

Merrill giggled. ‘Oh, Leandra will be shocked. But at least she knows who I am, I suppose. I hope she’s not taken _too_ much by surprise!’

Carver gave her a look that she didn’t quite understand, but he held out his elbow for her to take, and she walked in on his arm. The Comtesse de Launcet seemed surprised when Carver introduced Merrill as his date for the evening – as did Leandra, whom she was talking to; but fortunately Leandra said nothing, but gave Carver the sort of look that Merrill felt meant that she would have plenty of questions for her son later. While the Comtesse received Carver politely enough, asking him how her ‘dear boy Emile’ was faring in the Gallows, the look down her nose she gave Merrill indicated that she didn’t altogether approve of Carver bringing along an elf as his partner and equal.

 _Well_ , Merrill thought, as long as the Comtesse didn’t remove her from the premises altogether, she supposed she could put up with Dulci de Launcet’s snobbery for one night. And perhaps she could even tolerate the snobbery of all the other nobles in the room; but now they were all looking at her curiously and disdainfully, and her fingers dug into Carver’s elbow harder than she intended to.

‘You’ll be fine, Merrill,’ he said comfortingly to her, and placed his other hand over hers at his elbow; the contact startled her, and she couldn’t help emitting a small squeak of surprise. ‘You’re with me. They’ll leave you alone.’

‘I’m surprised you didn’t bring anyone else as your date,’ she whispered when they were out of earshot again, but he just smiled at her.

‘There was no-one else I wanted to bring.’

‘Not even one of the templars? Or even someone from the Blooming Rose? I’m sure you could have hired one of them to have been your escort for the evening… although I suppose Leandra wouldn’t have been pleased, so maybe that wouldn’t have been the best idea…’

He turned to look at her then, stopping in his tracks, and Merrill dropped her hand from his elbow. He wasn’t smiling anymore, and he looked so serious that Merrill felt that familiar anxiety, that pit of dread in her stomach she used to feel around him when she thought she might have said something wrong around him (and why _did_ she always say something wrong around him? It had been three years, and she _still_ couldn’t behave right when he was around). ‘I’m so sorry. I’ll stop rambling, I –’

‘Merrill –’

‘No – no, it’s fine. I always say something wrong, I always miss things, especially around you, and I don’t know how to stop myself saying something wrong around you but I really don’t mean it, and…’ She drew in a shaky breath. ‘I promised I’ll stop rambling. I will. Stopping now.’

‘Merrill,’ he said, kinder now, although she couldn’t look at him, couldn’t meet that serious expression on his face that would confirm her worst fears. ‘There was – there really _was_ no one else I wanted to bring.’

She chuckled then, but it was without mirth; she stared at his chest, noticing the way the shimmering fabric clung to and outlined his muscular body. ‘Yes, and now you’re stuck with me for the night.’

‘I could think of worse things.’ A pause. ‘You’re – you’re looking beautiful tonight, by the way. I love your dress.’

Merrill finally looked up at him and smiled; his cheeks were slightly pink, but even if this was all part of the act, she thought, it was very kind of him to say so. ‘Thank you, Carver. And you – you’re looking very handsome tonight. I didn’t really like the finery everyone was wearing – it looks so silly, I thought – but you wear it in such a way that it looks really good. On you, that is. Not anyone else.’

He blushed deeper, and Merrill wondered if she should have said all that; she meant it, though, even if he might think she was just playing along with the fake date. ‘Thanks, Merrill.’

It was a while before Merrill registered that they were staring into each other’s eyes and smiling – and the moment she realised how long they’d been standing like that she broke off his gaze, flushing furiously; Carver did the same.

‘We should probably mingle,’ he murmured, moving towards the throng of people around them; when he stopped and held out his arm, Merrill took it again, but could not explain to herself why her heart thumped so much at doing so. ‘Come on.’

Merrill decided to leave the polite small-talk to her date for the evening; fortunately for her, Carver did not seem in much of a mood to talk to many people. Lord and Lady Reinhardt came to talk to him, recognising that he was Leandra’s son; but Carver’s responses to their questions was so short and so curt that they soon turned their attention to Merrill, having initially looked as if they intended to ignore her presence completely.

‘Miss Merrill,’ Lady Reinhardt enquired, ‘I understand you are here as Ser Carver’s date for the evening. How do you know each other?’

‘I’ve known him for three years,’ Merrill answered. ‘His older sister helped me get settled in Kirkwall.’

‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ the older woman replied, in a way that made Merrill think she wasn’t charmed at all. ‘My second daughter, Amelia, was most interested in meeting Ser Carver in the hope of securing a powerful marriage between our two noble houses; although I must admit, we did not know he was dating an elf –’

‘I think the dancing is about to start,’ Carver interrupted, much to Merrill’s relief – for she had been a little worried she might accidentally give the game away. ‘I must apologise, Lord and Lady Reinhardt, it was a pleasure, but I promised my date the first dance.’

Merrill looked at him, confused; but Carver was bowing, so she decided to say nothing and curtsey her farewell. He was right: when they arrived at the ballroom, the band were just striking up for the first dance of the evening after a flourish of trumpets heralded its commencement; the music wasn’t anything she recognised, but it had far had too many trills and ornaments in it to be anything other than an Orlesian piece.

‘Carver,’ she hissed, worried, ‘I don’t know how to dance!’

‘Neither do I,’ he admitted, ‘but I just wanted to get away.’ He turned to face her, and held out a large hand. ‘Would you – will you dance with me anyway, Merrill?’

She nodded, and placed her hand in his; her hand was so slim and small in his she was surprised he could even feel it, yet he seemed to shudder slightly at the touch of her fingers. She wanted to ask why, she wanted to apologise; but he was already leading her to the floor, and soon she was face-to-face with him again… and very close. One large hand slid around her waist and held her by the small of her back, while the other continued to hold her hand in his, raising it up to shoulder-height; and Merrill blushed at how close their bodies suddenly were.

‘Um,’ she started, looking up into his face (she had never noticed how blue his eyes were before! Were they always like that, or was this a new thing?), and feeling confused. ‘Where should I put my other hand?’

‘I think it goes on my shoulder,’ he murmured, staring at her as if transfixed. ‘Just – just follow my lead.’

They started to move around the room, but it was no good: Merrill had no idea how these slow human dances went, and following Carver’s lead was harder than she thought. When she accidentally kneed him in the thigh she looked up, expecting Carver to be cross with her, but instead she was relieved to find he was amused.

‘I’ve got an idea,’ he said. ‘Here – stand on my feet, Merrill, and _I’ll_ move us both.’

Giggling, she obeyed, and slid her arm from his shoulder to round his waist to hold on. After a pause, Carver started to waltz them both around the room, chuckling over how they must look; and soon they were both giggling so much that Merrill almost fell off his feet. Pretending to be Carver’s date, Merrill thought, was actually quite a pleasant experience.

‘This is so much fun! I’m glad you asked me to… I mean, I’m glad you asked me!’

‘I’m glad you came. It’s much more fun with you here.’

‘Yes! This _is_ very exciting, isn’t it? A fancy Orlesian party? Usually, we’d just go on in hitting people! We’ve never done anything like this before!’

He chuckled again. ‘I suppose you have a point.’

They continued to shuffle around the ballroom floor, ignoring the pointed whisperings of the nobles around them; and Merrill held on so tightly she was pressed up flat against him at one point, and marvelled that he didn’t seem to mind. It was nice, she thought, and _he_ was nice, but when the dancing was over she was glad to have her feet on solid ground again.

‘Everyone is staring at me,’ Merrill murmured, as Carver led her by the hand away from the dancefloor.

He grinned at her. ‘They’re probably admiring how beautiful you are.’

‘Oh, you’re too kind,’ she said, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks, ‘but somehow I doubt that. Probably they’re scandalised that you’re here with an elf.’

‘Probably. Maybe I could kiss you, and scandalise them even more.’

‘Maybe you could.’

The playful grin fell from his face then, and Merrill started to panic that she had said something wrong again. ‘I’m so sorry, Carver, I didn’t mean – I only thought it would be more convincing if –’

‘Oh.’ He looked down at his feet, shuffling from one foot to the other. ‘I thought – I thought you wouldn’t want me to.’

‘I wouldn’t mind.’ She blushed deeper; and at the sight of him looking up at her again, so intently it made her nervous, she stammered, ‘I – I only thought it would be more convincing if – well, you know – if we’re going to act like –’

‘I’d like that.’ Now it was Carver’s turn to go bright red; his breathing quickened, and Merrill found it curious. This wasn’t how it was meant to be, she thought; it wasn’t supposed to alarm him, it was only supposed to be a fun fake date – 

‘You don’t have to, Carver,’ she said, trying to smile kindly at him, ‘I mean, I would be happy to, but don’t force yourself to –’

Suddenly his lips were on hers, his arms were around her body, and Merrill’s eyes widened in surprise as his fluttered shut; but some thrill was flowing through her and his tongue pressed against her lips, so she turned her head gently and let him in, closing her own eyes as she moved her hands to cradle his head. Carver exhaled a sigh of pleasure, and pressed her closer to him, one hand moving up to the back of her own head to hold her there, and the taste and feel of his tongue on hers was _wonderful_ , more wonderful than Merrill could have ever expected, and it was so hard not to want _more_. His lips were soft, yet urgent, against hers; as if this was something he’d wanted all along; and Merrill had no idea that kissing Carver would ever be this nice, feel this nice, taste this nice – would feel so _right_. She moved her lips against his, little moans of pleasure escaping them both, and lost herself entirely in the sensations of his kiss.

And yet, it was Merrill who broke it off first. They must have been kissing like that for a while, she thought, because a hush had fallen over the room, as if everyone had noticed that they were standing in one corner, mouths locked in passion. The music from the ballroom could still be heard, but Merrill suddenly became aware of the lull in conversation, as time and sound came flooding back to her after seeming to stop for those blissful, dazed moments where she was –

Wait.

Carver kissed her. Carver Hawke _had kissed her_.

He was a human, and a _templar_ , and she was an elf and a blood mage and yet… _he kissed her_.

And here he was, after she’d broken it off, breathless and with his forehead pressed against hers and murmuring something and it took a few seconds for Merrill to register what he’d just said.

‘I love you so much, Merrill,’ he breathed, his eyes still shut and clearly still lost in the kiss they had just shared. There was a desperation in his voice that surprised her. ‘I love you.’

‘I –’ she started, but – _Creators_ , what was it she was even going to say? What was real, and what was fake anymore? He sounded so real, he _felt_ so real, and yet – maybe he was a better actor than he ever let on? Was she supposed to play along, like she was meant to? Perhaps he was just saying it for the benefit of anyone who _might_ be listening, and doubting their relationship? ‘I love you, too,’ she mumbled, confused; and his eyes flicked open, so, so blue.

He hesitated, doubting, then kissed her again, desperately; but to Merrill it was just as amazing as the first time. If Merrill had thought the first kiss being earth-shatteringly good was just an accident, just a coincidence, the second proved beyond all doubt that it wasn’t: there was real chemistry between them, sexual and sensual and leaving them both panting and craving more; for her, it was the kiss that changed _everything_. Merrill had always thought Carver was handsome and well-built, and he was certainly nicer to her than most of Hawke’s companions were, even if she didn’t always understand him and he made her feel like she was always missing something that he never told her.

But now –? How could they go back to being acquaintances, or even _friends_ , after this? Well, maybe _he_ could; after all, this fake date was his idea, but _she_ couldn’t. After this, she _definitely_ couldn’t. Maybe if she were Isabela, who treated the actual act of sex as if it were nothing more than skin-deep, as she once told Merrill; but it seemed as if Merrill wasn’t able to enjoy a mere kiss with a man without it turning her world upside down.

Merrill broke off the kiss again, as pleasant as it was; Carver whined at the loss of her lips on his, and tried to dive back in to drink her in again, but Merrill firmly placed her hands between their bodies, and he looked surprised.

It was only pretend. It meant nothing to him, surely.

‘Merrill,’ he said, and he looked genuinely concerned and confused now, ‘what – how – are you OK?’

She was sure she was just as confused as he was, yet her eyes were brimming with tears. ‘No,’ she choked out, stifling a sob, and ran blindly out of the room.

Tittering ladies parted to let her pass as she fled; she heard the whispers and gossip and the sneers as she passed, but Merrill did not care: there was nothing that any of them could do or say to add to her humiliation; she only knew she needed to get out of there.

There was only one problem: by the time she blinked and could see again, panting and heart racing and finally alone, she didn’t know where she was. She appeared to be in a dark, empty room, and completely lost; but at least she now had time to think. She sat down in a nearby chintz armchair, waited for her breathing to slow, and tried to reflect on what had just happened – and why she had felt such a need to stop playing this game and get away, tears rolling down her face.

It was only a kiss, how did it end up like this? It was only a kiss. _It was only a kiss_.

She had even _allowed_ him to do it. He had already asked her if she would be OK with how he might behave during the evening, and she had told him not to worry. She had even told him that she wouldn’t mind if he kissed her, and yet – and yet…

No, it wasn’t quite true to say she _had_ minded. She only minded now, because she _liked_ it. Merrill only minded that he had kissed her because she liked it and wanted more, a lot more. She only minded _now_ because she wanted it to be _real_.

Despite the fact that they had got on well, Carver had always made her feel so unsure of herself, and sometimes even a little nervous; but whenever he wasn’t there, whenever she didn’t see him, she was able to forget about how he might make her feel. It suddenly dawned on her, with alarming clarity, that she really, really, really liked him – had always liked him – but had pushed it away and pushed it deep down because… because… because she didn’t understand him. Because she didn’t think he’d feel the same way. Because he was human. Because he was a _templar_.

And now – now she couldn’t push it away anymore, not now she’d had a taste of him, not now he had forced her to acknowledge what she really felt for him; what she’d always felt for him, but just never recognised it until now. She could still taste his lips on hers, could still feel his lips on hers, could still taste and feel his tongue on hers, and it made her body sing.

_I love you so much, Merrill. I love you._

_I love you, too._

Merrill wasn’t sure if what she felt for him was actually _love_ as such, but it was definitely attraction of some sort; the sort of attraction that could develop into love, given the right circumstances. However, right now, it was an attraction that was inconvenient – and, given the current circumstances, painful. And for him to _say_ those things! Even as a lie! It was too much, far too much, and it _hurt_ –

Merrill wiped her eyes on her hands. How stupid of her, to get all upset over a _shemlen_ like this, especially when he hadn’t done anything more than what she’d wanted him to do! How could she even feel hurt over him lying that he loved her when she had said it back to him – and she wasn’t sure she actually _did_ love him. Or not _yet_ , anyway. She smoothed her damp hands on her dress – she didn’t care anymore if such a nice garment got ruined, it no longer mattered – and wondered how on earth she was going to find her way back to the party. If nothing else, she probably needed Carver to help show her the way either back home or back to the Hawke Estate like he’d promised – she couldn’t trust anyone else in this place.

Merrill stepped out of the room and into the corridor – and was relieved at the sight of a passing servant, coming down the hallway with a lit lamp.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said to the astonished servant, ‘but would you be able to help me? I’m afraid I… needed some air, but then I got lost on my way back to the party. I’m here as Ser Carver’s companion, and he must be wondering where I am! Please could you show me where I need to go?’

The servant regarded her with some disdain, but agreed; and Merrill was glad when she re-entered the rooms where the de Launcet ball was taking place, and could only hope it hadn’t been too obvious she had been crying. She spotted Carver, leaning against a mantelpiece with his back to her, in conversation with a young noblewoman she’d never seen before. Merrill felt a pang of jealousy as the young lady fluttered her eyelashes and her fan in obvious flirtation, her décolletage very much on display in her elegant, low-cut chiffon dress; but how the tall, handsome templar was responding to it Merrill could not say.

She took a deep breath, and rejoined his side. Carver seemed surprised to see her, but then quickly turned his attention back to his companion; and Merrill saw the colour rising high on his cheeks. _So_ , she thought to herself, _he’s embarrassed about me, is he? Well. This was all his idea, and I don’t care if his companion knows it_. 

‘Hello!’ Merrill addressed the flirty noblewoman brightly, deliberately ignoring any astonishment or disdain the lady might have had towards her. ‘I’m Merrill! Ser Carver invited me here as his date! I’m sure Carver intended to introduce me to his acquaintances _eventually_ , but I just had to step out and get some air for a moment! Anyway, I’m back now, and it’s nice to meet you, what’s your name?’

The woman looked her up and down, a frosty expression on her face, and shut her fan. ‘Orlanna,’ she introduced herself. ‘The daughter of The Honourable Reginald Thaddeus Spincter.’

 _What a silly name her father has_ , thought Merrill, although she merely smiled even as Orlanna asked Merrill who her _own_ father was – almost as if she were trying to discern Merrill’s own place in society; as if (Merrill thought) the pointed ears didn’t already make _that_ obvious.

‘I grew up in a Dalish clan,’ Merrill said, sweetly. ‘I haven’t seen my parents in years. So, how do you and Carver know each other? Or have you just met tonight?’

‘We’ve just met,’ Orlanna said, opening her fan again, waving it delicately. ‘Although my father knew the Amell family, as did all of Hightown. So – how long have you two been courting each other?’

‘That’s a good question!’ Merrill beamed up at Carver, noting with some satisfaction the hesitant look on his face. ‘How long _have_ you been courting me, Carver? I’m sure Orlanna would like to know!’

Orlanna was looking from Merrill to Carver, her eyes narrowed. Carver, however, did not squirm as much as Merrill was hoping he would. ‘Merrill,’ he finally said, pushing himself off the mantelpiece. ‘I think we need to talk.’

Merrill feigned innocence. ‘What about?’

‘You already know what.’

‘No, I don’t.’

He sighed. ‘Fine. Lots of things. But – but not _here_ , if that’s OK with you. Let’s go somewhere private.’

‘I’ll leave you to it, shall I?’ Orlanna said coldly, and stalked away, fan fluttering in disdain; and now it was just Carver and Merrill, staring at each other, faces red in embarrassment, annoyance, hostility and probably a whole host of other emotions Merrill didn’t want to confront right now.

Carver led her out and away from the party, and away from the tittering aristocrats in the room; Merrill was not sorry to get away from them. She followed him down a corridor, and finally into an unused room, dark save for the moonlight streaming in through two giant glass doors, which were open and led to a balcony. Translucent white net-curtains gently billowed in, and Carver walked towards them, and out onto the balcony.

Merrill followed him, and they stood in silence awhile, observing the light from the full moon falling over Hightown and over the city. The night breeze was pleasant on her face, and she closed her eyes against it before speaking. ‘The city looks so pretty in the moonlight.’

Carver sighed. ‘Yeah. It does.’

Merrill opened her eyes then, and looked at her companion, but Carver leant on the balcony on his elbows, staring fixedly at the buildings and courtyards spread beneath them, brows knit, not looking at her. When she gently touched his arm, he reacted as if she’d just given him an electric shock, and jerked away; hurt, she withdrew.

‘You were the one who wanted to talk, Carver.’

‘And you were the one who ran away from me.’ He looked up, but he still wouldn’t look at her; he appeared to be glaring at the moon now, though what the moon ever did to Carver to make him hate it so, Merrill couldn’t fathom. ‘You could have _said_ you didn’t want me to take things that far.’

‘I –’ Merrill wasn’t sure what to say; in the end, she thought she might as well say what was on her mind. ‘I didn’t think you would.’

‘Well, then,’ he said, coldly, ‘I’m sorry I did. And I’m sorry kissing me was so – so _awful_ for you that you had to run away.’

‘It wasn’t.’

Carver looked at her sharply then; and Merrill realised, too late, what had just slipped out of her mouth. ‘So what exactly was your problem, then?’

Now it was her turn to look away, to gaze at the full moon beaming down on them both, bathing everything in silver and dark blue shadow. ‘Carver, I can’t – I can’t do this anymore.’

‘Well.’ His voice was bitter. ‘ _That’s_ obvious. I’m not _that_ stupid.’

‘I’m so sorry. I know I agreed to this fake date, but… I can’t fake-date you anymore.’

He grunted. ‘Fine. Then we won’t. And I’m sorry I took it too far –’

‘You didn’t, Carver, you – you really didn’t –’

Carver let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Merrill, just – just tell me what you mean. You _say_ I didn’t take things too far, and yet you clearly hated it, so –’

‘Well, perhaps,’ Merrill retorted, her temper starting to rise, ‘you should tell me what _you_ mean. I should _never_ have agreed to this. I didn’t think pretending to be your date would hurt so much.’

‘I could say the same about you,’ Carver snapped.

‘ _As if_ you were hurt by it, Carver! You think I didn’t know you were flirting with Orlanna-with-the-silly-surname as soon as I had left the room?’

‘What else was I supposed to do?’ He folded his arms. ‘You’d run away, I didn’t know where you’d gone, and I couldn’t exactly leave the party –’

‘So you had to flirt with her the moment my back was turned?’ Anger flared. ‘So much for _pretending_ we were dating!’

‘Well, what was I supposed to do? Continue standing there with a face like a slapped arse after you left me? Because kissing me was so repulsive to you that you had to run right out of the room – with everyone watching – and not even tell anyone where you were going?’

Merrill narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Why don’t you ever tell me what you _really_ mean, Carver?’

‘I’m telling you what I mean, already, so –’

‘No, you’re not,’ Merrill interrupted him, hating how her emotions threatened to spill out in her shaking voice. ‘What did you mean when you told me you loved me, then? What did you mean by _that_ , Carver Hawke?’

She hated the anguish and wailing in her voice, and hated how he stopped short of whatever it was he was about to say.

Finally, he turned to face the city again. ‘What do you want me to say.’

‘I want the truth,’ Merrill said, tears in her eyes now, though she was unsure why. ‘No more pretending. No more… no more lies. This fake-date is over.’

He stood there, watching the bustling below, lit lamps flitting around carried by the people who were out and about at this time of night, rare bursts of colour and light and orange warmth among the silvery darkness of the streets. For a long time, he didn’t speak; and Merrill watched his face as he continued to fixate on something below them she had no idea about. Somewhere in the distance was the hub-bub of the party, yet Merrill barely heard it, as if the silence between them had engulfed everything.

‘I’ve never lied to you, Merrill,’ Carver finally said. ‘Take that as you will.’

Now it was Merrill’s turn to look out over the city; the Gallows loomed, tall and black and seemingly far-off, against the moonlit sky, across the twinkling water. A tear rolled down her cheek; she blinked, desperately trying to prevent more from falling. ‘So… when you told me you loved me, earlier…’

‘I shouldn’t have said it.’ He drew in a breath, sharply. ‘I’m sorry. Especially if it – especially if _I_ , I mean – hurt you.’

‘But–’ she gulped, ‘you’re a templar.’

Another sharp breath. ‘I know.’

Silence again.

Eventually, Merrill spoke. ‘Carver,’ she started, shyly, and wished it wasn’t so obvious she was sniffling, ‘I –’

‘You don’t have to say it, Merrill. I know it wasn’t what you wanted to hear –’

‘– no, Carver, you don’t understand, I –’

‘– I’m really sorry I hurt you, I should never have said –’

‘Carver,’ Merrill snapped at him for the second time that evening, ‘please just – just let me finish.’

He stopped then, and if Merrill didn’t know any better, she could have sworn he had teared up too.

‘I really wished it was all real,’ Merrill blurted out, and the tears started to flow in earnest, now. ‘I _wanted_ it to be real. And – I wasn’t hurt by anything you did, I – was hurt because I thought none of it was true.’

The moon spilled in her vision, the pinpricks of light below swirled; and Merrill lost herself in sobs without fully understanding why she was even crying. A warm arm snaked around her back, and Merrill buried herself into a shoulder that smelt comfortingly of Carver as another arm wrapped itself around her; and it took her at least a minute of losing herself before she realised she was crying in Carver’s arms – against Carver’s body.

‘I’m sorry,’ she wept, as she felt his breath against the tip of her ear.

‘Don’t be.’

‘I’m so stupid.’

He chuckled at that. ‘Well,’ he said, attempting some levity in a voice that seemed a little shaky, ‘that makes two of us.’

Merrill giggled, and slipped her own arms around him; Carver’s breathing seemed to stop, before he exhaled, warm and heavy against her ear; and Merrill shuddered happily at the feeling. ‘This is – this is nice,’ he eventually said.

‘I’m glad you think so.’

He chuckled at that; his lips were dangerously close to her ear, and Merrill almost felt that he was refraining from kissing the tip. ‘So,’ he murmured, ‘what should we do now?’

She finally looked up at him; he stared down at her, but even in the moonlight, she could see his eyes shining with his own unshed tears. ‘Well, we could always go back to the party,’ she ventured.

‘Um,’ he blushed, ‘no, I meant – I mean – with – with you and me.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Well. In an ideal world, I think – I think you would maybe ask me on a date, and then – maybe – kiss me.’

He let out a huge sigh of relief, and smiled, and Merrill couldn’t help smiling back at him – he really was handsome, she thought, and very sweet; and finally his awkward behaviour around her all these years made sense. ‘I can certainly do that,’ he said, ‘if you want me to. I’ve always wanted to take you on a date.’

‘Well,’ Merrill chirped, brighter now, ‘if you want to take me on a date, Carver Hawke, then I am happy to go on one with you.’  

He grinned at that. ‘I’ll make sure that the date I take you on is better than this one.’

Merrill giggled again, and then he giggled too, and before Merrill knew it, he was kissing her again, his lips on hers, his tongue and his taste and his touch even better than the other times – because this time it was real now, it was true now, and there was no holding back or hesitation or lies or blurred lines between what was fake and what was not.

‘Mmmm,’ Merrill said, when they finally parted. ‘Orlanna-with-the-silly-surname doesn’t know what she’s missing.’

Carver chuckled. ‘Don’t worry about that. I only spoke to her because she came over and introduced herself, anyway, and I had nothing else to do.’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I was sort of relieved when you came back and scared her away, to be honest.’

Merrill laughed. ‘I didn’t think you looked “relieved” to see me, Carver.’

‘I was relieved you were OK. Surprised, yeah, and unsure how to react, but I _was_ relieved. Well – relieved you’d come back, at any rate.’

‘I don’t really want to go back, though, Carver. Can’t we just stay here all night until it’s time to leave? Kissing you is _so_ much more fun!’

He smiled at her. ‘I agree. But… I think we’ve been here long enough that if we left now, it wouldn’t be seen as rude. Besides which,’ he added, after dropping a quick kiss on her forehead, and Merrill closed her eyes in pleasure at his touch, ‘now is a good time to ask Bodahn to make up the spare room for you to sleep… and maybe while _that’s_ going on, we could probably have a couple more private moments to carry on this “fake date turned real”.’

Merrill scrunched up her nose as she grinned at him, delighted. ‘I’d like that, Carver,’ she agreed. ‘Let’s go.’

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are most welcome - or come say hello at [hollyand-writes.tumblr.com](http://hollyand-writes.tumblr.com)!


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